


Facing the Facets

by dorkgrayson



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Catwoman (Comics), Catwoman - All Media Types
Genre: Bat Family, BatCat, F/M, Gotham City Sirens, batfam, batfamily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4249911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkgrayson/pseuds/dorkgrayson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each chapter explores the different facets and angles of Batman and Catwoman's relationship. From enemies to parents, Bruce and Selina have been through it all. </p><p>Set during a mix of both pre-flashpoint universe and new 52 continuity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the first installment, the dysfunctional duo first meet in the mean streets of Gotham. It is there they find out, can the other be trusted or will they be made enemies of each other.

**en-e-mies; (noun): a person who feels hatred for, fosters harmful designs against, or engages in antagonistic activities against another; an adversary or opponent.**

* * *

 

The first time he saw her was while they were out on patrol.

This was not the first time she had seen him.

It was one of the early few nights the newly grouped Dynamic Duo had begun their vigilant mission to protect Gotham City from the dangers and demons that lurked beneath her. The beginning week was thankfully slow and gave the two time to adjust to themselves and their routine in the real world. At the start of the second week, a suspicious shadow caught their attuned eye.

Woman, mid to late 20s, dark and spunky hair poked through the face hole of her headpiece which contoured to form two thick cat ears. Ethnicity yet unknown, possibly caucasian from the stark contrast her pale skin made against the inky night - observation inconclusive. She was built lean and slim; graceful, lithe, and quick on her feet. Her sleek, athletic physique fit inside a seductive catsuit that left very little to the imagination. A smirk broke through the murk of his scowl as the Bat’s eyes skillfully appraised her up and down.

The suit was the color of the night at the time the Dynamic Duo started their prowl. She blended in easily with it; the average person would have difficulty spotting her, but these two had eyes trained to spot and sleuth out all manner of oddities in their city. Beside him his ward, and soldier on crime, made two clicking noises with his tongue and cheek. The young boy rolled onto the backs of his heels and whistled, ogling the woman racing across the rooftops boldly; she never missed a step and seemed to know the city as well as they did.

“Would ya get a load of that!” he let slip enthusiastically.

“Robin,” the other man admonished sharply and simply. The boy jolted to attention, the perfect soldier - his best. “Focus. You know why we’re out here, don’t lose sight of that.”

The boy sheepishly glanced away, embarrassed. “Yes, Batman,” he replied and picked his attention back up on their current target gliding her way across downtown Gotham.

Gotham city was once a beautiful mecca of cultural and intellectual diversity in America, a home for the weak as much as a home for the strong. Where a child could play in the streets safely and shadows were just objects cast in light. Now, it had become a haven for criminals - and a hell for its citizens. The courts were corrupt with the scales of justice tipped or unhinged for more lucrative opportunities; crime like biblical plague tore through the city, violent gang warfare and metahuman strikes had streets torn asunder; and the police as a whole were egotistical money baggers who lined their pockets with bribes and blood money. The people sworn to protect only used their authority to muscle out and abuse every innocent family and worker on the Gotham streets.

The city desperately needed a guardian angel to protect the innocents and seek out justice that refused to be served. It called out to the heavens for help, and from the night descended a dark angel to protect its flock: Batman! Batman and his partner, whom he called Robin, went out each night in the cover of dark and caped costumes as vigilant (or as the _Gotham Gazette_ called it, “vigilant(e)”) watch over the city. The two went were police could not follow, and made sure they were there so that evil could not escape.

It was on this night, the two would find out what side of the law this new player practiced on.

The soft patter of her shoes - high heels, incredibly impractical, but seemingly functional enough - on the rooftops and fire escapes were like mice feet. But she was no docile mouse; she was more like the predator that caught them. She maneuvered across the top of the city with graceful ease; she seemed to know every nook, cranny, and roof of the lower side. Her comfort levels would indicate that her base of operations, and potentially home, had to be somewhere near by as they had not seen her crop up anywhere else in the city yet. Batman followed the winding and eccentric path her route made and deduced where she might end up.

“Robin, she seems to be heading for the North Side now,” was his gruff, and astute, commentary.

“Ok, so what’s our plan of action? Should we tail her to see where she leads or go to the highest vantage point on the North Side and locate her after? Kane Memorial Tower has a great point we can reach easily enough,” Robin glanced around and noticed he spoke to himself alone, not a single trace that anyone had even been there minutes before. “Or,” he rolled his eyes and made his way off the building and towards their destination. “We could just leave and vanish without a word. That works too!” 

* * *

 

The North Side was a much better venue than she was used to; picking from the pockets of cheap thugs and unconscious pimps. The air seemed thinner and smelled nicer than the sewage and slop of the lower east end. Pickings had been getting scarcer and slimmer there than they already were, it was past time she moved into larger territory. True enough, the North Side yielded higher risk, but it would also reward her twice as much for her trouble.

She agilely slipped from the roof of one penthouse building - a terrifying height she tried not to think too hard about - onto the balcony. Using her diamond-enhanced claws (they were certainly her best friends for and as part of her craft), she cut a perfect circle in the glass backdoor. Rich people were wonderful, so concerned about their aesthetics over their security that they had full glass doors. They also felt so secure with what their wealth could by and the height of their penthouse, they didn’t use an alarm. Foolish. She got in with ease and began to pilfer through and take whatever her hands could carry that would either look great on her mantle or pawn for a pretty penny.

Choice places to scour were obviously drawers, boudoirs, jewelry boxes, medicine cabinets, and between the mattress. The heavier her bag, the heavier the guilt. She told herself it was a necessary evil in order to survive; people lived in such awful opulent wealth while others just a few blocks away starved. She could keep some of these items for herself and have enough left over to pawn and give back to her community, the ones who truly needed some luck. She told herself it was the only way to survive.

“A cat burglar wearing a catsuit,” came a voice from the darkness, heated enough to scald and low in his throat. An utterly masculine noise of power, his voice was a deep rumble in his chest. “Original.”

“If you like that you’re really going to like this,” the thief smiled deviously over one shoulder, batting long eyelashes. “I go by _Catwoman_. That’s what the papers called me anyway, and it had such a lovely ring to it. Now,” she produced a long whip, a cat of nine tails (how apropos) and snapped it threateningly in the voice’s general vicinity. “Step out of the shadows so I can see you. I like to see the face of a man I flirt with before ending his life for catching me unawares. It’s a dangerous city and a girl’s got to defend herself, you know.”

From the shadows emerged a tall and daunting figure, pure muscle beneath the weaponized armor he wore, embossed with a flying bat squared in the center of his chest. His face smelled faintly metallic - no doubt some ointment used to protect the uncovered parts of his flesh. The light of the moon cast onto the figure threw parts of his face in shadow and accentuated the severity of his sharp features; the cut of his jaw striking enough to slice through steel, the line of his nose straight as her whip, and the downturn of his lips were a razor thin line of disapproval. The scowl he wore was framed by his pointed cowl and the glare he directed at her was full of reprimand - and perhaps other darker emotions.

Despite the grim features set in his posture and upon his face, Catwoman positively purred at the grand reveal. It was a delicious sound full of a million naughty promises; her mouth dropped open in unabashed lust. “Mmm, Batman,” she drew near and circled around him, raking a long claw across his chest until it made a full circle back to where it started. “ _Me-ow._ ”

“What you’re doing,” he began, watching her tease him with her sinful eyes as she strut around him, his eyes trained on hers with dull determination. “Stop yourself before I am forced to stop you.”

She continued to play at this as if it were a game, and maybe to her it was. A happy hum escaped her lips as she broadly smiled, dazzling white teeth under full bright red lips the color of fresh blood. She licked those plump lips, eyes raking him up and down a number of times.

“Ooh, promises, promises!” she goaded him, her voice hazy with desire. She was laying the act on thick, a ploy at distraction although perhaps slight truth beneath it all. “But so professional! Ever think to make this professional trip one of pleasure instead?”

“Give me the bag,” he demanded. “Let me help you, take you off this path. You don’t have to do this.”

It was a plain statement, almost boring - apathetic. But there was something in those words too, almost - pity? She lost her smile and the gleam in her eyes turned to a deadly glint. He didn’t know her, didn’t know why she did this. Maybe she didn’t either, but she knew it was the only thing that kept her going. Her face lost all emotion and she tightened her hold on the bag.

“No.”

His frown deepened. “Give it to me,” he repeated, this time packing more volume and emphasis on each word. He took a step forward, she took a hesitant step back then squared her shoulders.

She braced herself in a lowering crouch, twirling her whip in her hands, her lips in a downward tilt. “You’re not getting this bag.”

“Give it to me _now_!” he commanded, losing patience and rushing her with surprising speed from someone so large.

She thought of everything in that moment: why she was doing what she was, why she needed to, why she so desperately needed to escape the life she led before this one, and why each stolen item gave her more security in her self worth. Each artifact and mark made her forget; forget her life as it was, forget the torture she had gone through as a child, forget the fact that she was truly dead inside. This was what she needed to make her feel alive, if only for one night at a time. Some people drowned it in crack dens, sex, and booze; she abetted her kleptomania.

She screamed a last, “No!” and lashed at him with her whip, the tails striking at his face and neck.

Batman raised his arm up in perfect, practiced time. The whip landed a hit on his forearm with a body-shuddering crack as Catwoman pulled the cord taut. It wrapped around his arm a few times, a boost to her self esteem that she had wrangled the infamous Batman on her first try. The esteem quickly turned to chagrin as sharp spikes shot outward from his forearm protectors and tore her whip to shreds, like a newborn kitten with ribbon. With a short angry roar he used her shock and dismay to his advantage and grabbed hold of her.

He roughly seized her by the forearm and forced her to look directly into his eyes, the bridge of his mask’s nose plate bearing down on hers. The action caught her off guard and for a moment, the man behind the mask saw her vulnerability. This was probably one of her first few nights out and she was still grappling with the danger as well as excitement of her newfound profession. He hoped to instill the fear of himself in her before it was too late.

“This is no joke, Catwoman!” he bit out each word with precision. “Whatever game you think this is, it isn’t. You could face jail time or worse. Just because you are siding with the criminal element of Gotham now, doesn’t mean it won’t chew you up and spit you out until you’re nothing but bones in the gutter later!”

She sneered at him and slapped his hand away. “Surviving on the streets is no joke, and I’m not playing around like some monopoly game. There is no, ‘pass go and collect $200’ card unless you make one for yourself. I would rather take you on any day. At least you’re pretty to look at,” she hugged herself and glanced away, eyes downcast. “Compared to what I…”

Ideally, he wanted to feel sympathy. He wanted to reach out to her. He wanted to be what she needed. He was the champion for people just like her, the innocents who suffered at the hands of criminal scum. No. He was a champion of the people she had been. Now, she was an enemy, preying on the people he swore to protect, rich and the poor alike. And he had to end it while she still had a fighting chance to break away.

“If you don’t stop this after tonight, I will have no choice but to come after you with full force. There will be no pity, no second chances; just me bearing down on you with the full weight of justice. Are you willing to make me your enemy?” he asked her, voice softer in the aftermath of her half confession but just as firm.

She looked up to the moon for guidance, any answer the universe could provide for her. She used to look up there and pretend she could escape, the moon looked barren and lifeless just as the world made her feel.

But this was no fairy tale. There was no fairy godmother to suddenly grant her all the things in life she wanted and needed. There was no gallant prince to sweep her off her feet and take her to some castle, where the two could spend the rest of their days together in blissful ignorance. There was no such thing as a happy ending just as surely as there was no such thing as dragons. She knew what she had to do to survive and she would do it - no matter what it cost her.

“If that’s what it comes down to, I will have to live with that - if you let me.”

He could see she was resolute. The set of her shoulders and grimace made it abundantly clear. Nothing would stop her; not tonight, not tomorrow night, or even the next. He would let her go for now, hopefully the night air would cool her head and make her reevaluate her life and where it had led her so far. Maybe nothing would change and the two would find themselves here again, a different day and different penthouse. In his gut, he couldn’t tell which he wanted more. His heart said the first, but something else pulled at the lead lining of his stomach that told him otherwise. He tried not to listen to it, an incessant nagging that made him nauseous.

She peered up into the emotionless mask he shielded himself with, trying to decipher meaning out of his forced apathy. She took a step closer involuntarily, hand raising up to his face. He turned his cheek away slightly, hesitantly yearning and fighting it. She bit her lip and ran past him, not sparing a glance back she leapt out the window and took off into the night. Her conscience becoming as dark as the shadows she hid and moved within.

There was a rustling sound and a bright yellow flash skid into the room. The Bat’s mind was blank and reacted mechanically, categorized every detail robotically.

“You let her escape!”

It was an excitable statement. Robin’s head darted between him and the window.

“Did you see the way she moved?”

A question.

Batman answered, “Yes, you could learn a thing or two.”

Robin smirked. He shook his head with an amused grin. “She’s gonna drive you crazy, I can already tell.”

Batman felt himself coming out of his reverie and simply agreed, “Hn.”

It was enough patrolling for the evening. It was time the two retired to the cave. The sun was coming up, and a new dawn in Gotham approached; with it the shadows receded but a new enemy was on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! If you have any questions, concerns, comments let me know down below; I would love to hear your input.
> 
> To reaffirm and clarify, each chapter of this story deals with an aspect and category of BatCat’s relationship. The continuity my story follows is sort of a mix of pre-flashpoint and new 52; wherein it is mostly following pre-flashpoint but there are a couple aspects that can be considered new 52. 
> 
> The chapters I have planned so far are: Enemies, Friends, Lovers, Partners, Parents, and I think a few more. I’m editing the three other chapters I’ve done so far and will hopefully have them out soon! Catch this dysfunctional duo again; continued in Chapter 2: Friends.


	2. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this next installment of Facing the Facets, Selina finds herself reflecting on all her friendships and finding a balance with her latest one. She fell for the bat and she is now becoming fast friends with the man, if his family will let her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts off pretty heavy on prose, the dialogue starts towards the middle. The end is a lead-in to the next segment: Lovers ;)

**friends; (noun): one attached to another by affection or esteem; favored companion.**

* * *

 

With the way she grew up, Selina found it difficult to find anyone trustworthy enough to be classified as “friend.” It was a dog eat dog world in the East End of Gotham city; she decided to stand out among it as a cat. Independent, street smart, and cunning; she was slippery in the streets - and curious. Her curiosity got the best of her, landing her in sticky situations, but satisfaction brought her back again and again.

It was hard to keep ties in the community she was reared in, where everyone around her fell like flies. She had a rough start to life that stuck with her like a bad curse. With a mother who killed herself when she was young, a father who drank himself to death, a sister abused as much as she was and then some; the few acquaintances she managed to tag along with falling like dominoes, it made her hesitant to settle her roots.

It was easier to find comfort and solace in the city at night, in the penthouses of the rich among their petty concerns; furs, diamonds, and replaceable valuables. It was surreal to find people prioritizing cold gems while people on the streets died of hunger, rape, homelessness. It was a bittersweet feeling to surround herself with these stolen riches: bitter from being around such human depravity and sweet with the lust of the finer things; she made friends with these jewels because, hey, at least they couldn’t die on her.

It wasn’t until she had grown did she find people close enough to her to trust, to even call friend in her most private of thoughts. It was funny to her, that in the most untrustworthy of places where people pit one against the other for half a crumb or simply sadistic follies, that she found allies in life, crime, and even passion. She could count the number of these companions on one hand, and each represented a different aspect and level of friendship. Like the sides of the diamond she admired in her long claws; the facets’ reflection gave her an altered perception of herself. She thought of her friends and each cut of the diamond smiled back at her fondly.

There was Lola, of course, the one her mind leapt to immediately when the term friend, companion, and sister crept up in conversation. Lola had been there from very early on, a confidante turned fencer - not the kind with swords, although sometimes old relics of that ilk were sold. She was on the plumper side, surprising for a show girl (yes, the jokes abound), but she worked it well. Mid-length blonde hair, square-rimmed glasses, and a smile always quirked on her face. She also had a love for cats, her apartment decorated as a crazy cat ladies’ dream. Selina enjoyed her time there immensely. It was a home away from…as good a home as she was ever going to get.

Every so often, they would have a girls weekend of booze, movies, some indulgent soap opera viewing, and binge eating chocolate until they were tossed into a pleasant choco-coma. Lola was book smarts, a wonderful compliment to Selina’s street connivery. She could not have gotten as far as she did without Lola in her life.

Down in the trenches of the inner city war zone was where she found her other four comrades. The grittiness of Gotham’s seedy underbelly and strips coursed through their blood. That shared history, that winding path of danger meeting psychoses, forged an irrefutable bond between the criminals in the city. Some used this bond to their benefit, an advantage to further their games or create a blanket of security. To others, their allies and adversaries were all mere pawns in a long game of chess for ownership of Gotham.

For Selina, she kept a few of these wild cards up her sleeve and close to her chest when they let her. It was bizarre to identify someone with a term so close as friend when for a very long time, she never knew the true faces behind their masks.

There was one friend who took masks out of the equation early on. The Riddler was a crafty man, full of tricks and secrets hot enough to burn the city to the ground. She was pretty sure that aside from herself, the Riddler was one of the very few people to know the identity of Gotham’s most illusive vigilante. She was also certain that even if he did know, he would never spill the beans and reveal the most tantalizing of riddles to just anyone. Catwoman and the Riddler were amicable at best in their early run ins, but through more and more cases and robberies, a strong alliance was formed between the two.

He started the shebang, the great reveal, by casting his eye mask aside melodramatically and stating the two should just, “Part ways with their faux facades”; he had already deduced who she was. Zipping her headpiece off, she uncovered her face and he smiled dastardly. He allowed her to call him Edward, or Eddie, and she to him was Selina in private. The two coupled together for various missions and the occasional chat. He was witty and clever to a fault, but she enjoyed his quirky company. The two had a nearly infallible trust between them she hoped to never betray, and vice versa. She looked at him like an estranged brother.

Then came a pair in a very unorthodox manner. Harley Quinn bounced into her life in a tangle of roots and leaves curled precariously around her in the form of Poison Ivy. Harley’s bubbly, sugary sweet personality stuck to Selina like a child’s lollipop in the fur of its pet. The two became close because Harley made them close. She was as loving and sweet a girl just as heartily as she was neurotic and compulsive.

Selina was there for all the shenanigans, midnight hyena walks, and inevitable (and frequent) heartbreak. The abusive and detrimental (emphasis on _mental_ ) relationship the cheery harlequin had with the clown prince of crime was an on again/off again affair that always ended in blood, sweat, tears, and a raving rampage across the city. Selina was there every time to help her cope, or coax her out of a psychotic revenge run through the entire city, with a tub of ice cream, comfy pajamas, and lots of girl talk. She even sat through the gruesomely detailed sex talks. Ivy would always leave to tend to her plants when the subject matter arose and Selina wished “Gotta feed the cats” was a viable excuse, but Harley only readily agreed to help and bring her boys to play with the “lil purr-balls.”

In terms of her friendship with Ivy, the territory was a tad hazy. She viewed Ivy like a roommate; a few amiable grunts in her direction, the couple meaningful stares worth twelve conversations. She was cold, but reliable. Ivy was incredibly intelligent, but very stuck on herself. It made dealing with her outside the parameters of battle…taxing. But Selina would rather have her as a friend than an enemy, so she kept her in the loop as close as Ivy wanted to get. The only problem with ivy in general is the itch, although in the woman’s case Selina mentally added a b before the word.

Lastly, came her most recent (and truth be told favorite) friend, an unlikely but welcome addition to her pathetic group of rogues. He was different than all of her other friends, though. The emotions sparking between them on an entirely different plane. He was fierce, roguish, and loyal and she openly admired his other physical qualities with friendly flirtations.

The other day she had been invited to join him for a movie and nonchalantly accepted while later grinning idiotically at the prospect. Even more exciting was that she was not going to some midnight rooftop rendezvous as Catwoman counter to his Batman. She was going as Selina Kyle opposite Bruce Wayne _(the_ Bruce Wayne) to his home. A thrill sent shocks through her system at the thought of his identity. The _Gazette_ and other local and national tabloids were not to be believed, his true personality was nothing like the persona, his fake front, he showed for the paparazzi. She enjoyed getting to know both sides of the real him; she had fallen for the bat and was becoming fast friends with the man. She could be around him at his best and worst, seen all sides to him and knew she wanted to be part of both worlds in any way she could be.

She looked herself up and down in the mirror, nodded approvingly at the tight jeans and black v neck t-shirt, she looked fine without makeup and left it that way, her messy hair tossed into fashionable disarray. It was a casual ensemble, but accentuated her figure elegantly and sensually. She grabbed her keys and helmet and raced off to his mansion, grinning gleefully and heart racing in time to the steady thrum of her tires.

Selina arrived at Wayne manor, parking her vehicle just outside the gate. As they opened, she drove around the circular entrance and hiked the parking gear down into the ground just in front of the regal double doors. She was still in awe at the majesty of Wayne Manor. She had been there only a handful of times, usually in cover of darkness and with more pressing matters to concern herself with besides the architecture and interior design. Now that this was a social visit, she ogled unabashedly.

Before she could knock, the door opened ominously. Out from the shadows of the manor, stepped a kindly old butler whose sullen eyes regarded her. She felt slightly uncomfortable under his scrutiny until a small smile graced his thin lips.

 _He’s pretty cute for an older gentleman_ , Selina thought, smiling back bravely. Look at her, she could brave metahumans and extraterrestrial super powered beasts, but a wizened old Brit was too much for her.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Kyle,” he said, voice posh and precise. “Master Bruce regrets to inform you that if he arrives, he may be attending your engagements late. He is currently held up at Wayne Enterprises on important business.”

Selina’s face fell. Wasted gas money was nothing compared to the disappointment she felt. “Oh,” she said, trying to keep the dejection out of her voice and miserably failing. “Well, it happens. I’ll come back another time.”

Before she turned to walk back the way she came, he called out to her. “Master Bruce also wishes me to inform you that until he arrives, I shall tend to any and all of your needs.”

A brilliant smile spread across her face and it warmed the old man’s heart to see it. He ushered her inside with a delicate nod of his head, allowed her to enter the premises first, shut the door behind them and took her to the kitchen for refreshments.

“Would I be able to fetch you anything to drink, Ms. Kyle? Some water, tea, coffee?”

Selina thought for a moment, her lips puckering cutely as she picked up on the hints her stomach was dropping. She threw Alfred an apologetic wince and asked, “Is it strange that I have a craving for cookies and milk?”

He chuckled softly, an endearing cooing noise, and assured her, “Not at all.”

He began to get out all the necessary ingredients and equipment for the cookies. Selina felt odd just watching him work, even if it was his job. She hopped off the stool at the counter and set to work next to the kindly butler. They withdrew a pot to stir the ingredients, a whisker, pan, foil, and the products to make homemade chocolate chip cookies. Selina stirred, nipping a few quick bites of the raw cookie dough (a very guilty pleasure), as Alfred rummaged for something. Selina’s eyes perked up instantly, relinquishing the sweet finger she sucked on with an excited pop.

“Are those animal themed cookie cutters!” her exclamation was more of an excited statement, than a question.

Alfred nodded and swapped with her, pot for cookie designers. She explored each design and picked three of her favorites. She chose a bat, a cat, and a cute little dog that looked like a cocker spaniel.

“How apropos,” Alfred commented dryly.

“Yeah, well, I can understand the cat, dog, bird, and dinosaur designs, but a bat? That had to be specially ordered. Is everything of his bat-themed? I bet he even has bats on his boxers.”

Alfred chuckled and asked with humor in his voice, “You don’t know for certain if he does?”

She smirked and wagged her finger at him, “You’re a cheeky Brit, aren’t you Alfred? I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

She began pressing the cookie foundation Alfred laid into adorably shaped delicacies. The two talked for the next half hour while the cookies baked. The smell of vanilla extract and chocolate filled the grandiose house until it was all but overwhelming. The smell invaded parts of the house order and noise seemed unable, rousing a young boy from his hiding. Footsteps excitedly thundered down the grand master staircase as a pre-pubescent boy zipped through the manor and into the kitchen.

“Alfred, you making cookies?” the voice yelled, drawing nearer. The flash of bright blue eyes and jet black hair zoomed by faster than the Flash as he nabbed a searingly hot cookie off the tray. He glanced down at the shapes, peered at the one in his hand and his face fell. “What? Dogs, cats, and bats, but no birds - no robins?”

Damian heard a bemused snort come from the other side of the table and jolted back at who he saw. Selina crossed her arms under her chest and shot him a look of challenge. _Yeah, I’m in your kitchen. What are you gonna do about it?_

She thought the questions with assertion, but also genuine curiosity. If she was going to be a part of Bruce’s life in both regards, she felt it would probably be easier to cohabitate comfortably with his son - or at least cordially. She hoped the two could put their _differences_ aside for the sake of their mutual interest; although the more she looked at him, the more of his mother she saw. He was the spitting image of what she imagined Bruce looked like at that age, but something about the sharpness of his eyes and mouth looked just like the woman Selina had gone toe-to-toe with on several occasions. Her shoulder still clicked when she rolled it because of a few bouts the two had undergone and it was hard not to be bitter.

“Master Damian, we have company,” Alfred mentioned a few moments too late.

Damian threw him a tired look of apathy. “Yes, I can see that.”

He glanced back over at their guest who stood stiffly at the edge of the table across from him. It might as well have been a canyon separating them with the sudden emotional distance tense between them. Damian was still adjusting to seeing the civilian Selina Kyle aspect of the infamous and nefarious Catwoman, the femme fatale who in costume had given him a few scars and lashes for his troubles as Robin - and many more scars to his mother years earlier. His mother’s harsh criticisms on her character (a common thief that was able to steal anything, including evidently his father’s heart) clouded his thoughts and he kept himself guarded.

Damian thought his father was stupid for allowing an obvious enemy into his home so easily; it was reckless, arrogant, and he still wished the situation between his parents was a different one, childishly angry it wasn’t his mother sitting opposite him in his kitchen. He tore at the head of a bat-cookie and contemplated his next words.

“So…” he began, face a dark grimace. Selina shifted a little uncomfortably into her seat and nibbled on the ear of a cat cookie. “What should I call you when you're not in costume and trying to separate my head from my shoulders then: Mistress? Whore? My father’s personal pus—“

Her face twisted. That kid had thrown cordial out the window with his biting remarks. She cut him off swiftly, “You can call me whatever you feel comfortable with. You know my name at this point, so call me whatever works. I’ll answer to most anything, although sometimes I let my fist do the talking for me.” It was a threat she didn’t attempt to veil.

Damian sniffed his upturned nose at her. “Whore, it is. That’s what Mother always called you anyway. Nothing but a common gutter-wench.”

“Yeah?” Selina couldn’t help it, the brat was baiting her and she snapped back. “Well your precious _mother_ isn’t one to talk.”

The kid snarled and attempted to lunge. Selina rose from her seat (to defend or attack, she wasn’t sure of at that moment) but Alfred jumped in immediately, “Master Damian, if you can not behave cordially in the presence of your father’s guest, I will not have you shame Master Bruce in this way any further. I ask you retire to your room and wait for Master Bruce to deal with you there.”

“She started it!” he objected.

“And I am finishing it. Your room - now.”

Damian stormed off, cursing in several languages (in a few she knew) but not before snatching two handfuls of cookies.

That bat-brat had effectively ruined her good mood for the day. Now she was exhausted from the encounter, her feathers ruffled and stomach unsettled. It would take a very, very, _very_ long time for the two to act civilized around each other she was beginning to realize - if ever at all. She sat back down and smoothed her hair and shirt out, offering Alfred an apologetic/thank you dog cookie to which he politely declined.

“I apologize for the young master’s behaviour, Ms. Kyle. He hasn’t had the easiest childhood, but Master Bruce has been trying to rear him right.”

“It takes a village,” she replied sardonically. Alfred hummed his affirmation and set about to clearing the kitchen.

Hours later, he bid her good night and retired to his room for the evening, and Selina found herself wanting to do the same. She wished she brought her comfortable pajamas, the lounge pants and cotton shirt with a cat that read “Crazy Cat Lady” on it. Those were her favorites, in spite of how corny they were. She rested on the couch and decided to nap while she waited. The nap soon turned to a deep sleep as the hours drew by, night folding around her like a soft blanket. It was fully dark by the time a rough hand woke her with deceptive gentleness and an even softer voice called out to her.

“Selina?”

She groaned and shifted, but made no other move to rouse herself. She heard the noise again and swatted lazily at it, sniffing deeply and settling further into the couch cushions. There was a sigh and a sudden weight around her, a light wool coating floated down upon her gently and then a heavier something settled along the line of her hips. Her mind could process just enough to know it was a large, warm hand. Her legs were lifted up and settled upon what felt like coarse slacks. Her eyes fluttered open tiredly and saw channels flipping without concern for where they landed.

“Morning,” a deep voice greeted her as she started to wake.

She popped up immediately, hair in disarray, as she took stock of her surroundings. “Morning?!” she cried out in shock.

The voice laughed. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you would have been so out of it. It’s 10 o’clock - pm, though.”

Selina relaxed back into the couch, half leaning into the body next to hers which rubbed her ankle reflexively. She gently knocked his shoulder and called him out. “Jerk.”

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized.

“The Batman looking sheepish? Now I can die seeing everything the world has to offer,” she teased.

“It’s just Bruce here, Selina.”

“I don’t know if you’re ever Bruce,” she commented sagely. Or idiotically, she was too tired to discern the distinction.

He gave her a look then shrugged.

“You know whose name should have been Dick? Your son’s.”

His voice became as cold and unrelenting as steel. “I spoke to him. He is not only going to try, but succeed, in behaving more…appropriately.”

“I was going to be cordial, but he messed that up two seconds into the conversation.”

“I hope you two can try again sometime, after he’s learned what he needs to about social interactions.”

“Hey, I will if he will. But if he calls me anything less than ladylike I will not be held accountable for my actions and I hope you have trained him just as well as your other boys to know how to dodge.”

She yawned and snuggled closer into him sleepily, he smirked down at her but it smoothed and turned into a gentle smile. His arm that was wrapped around the back of the couch nestled to fit perfectly around her shoulders as he brought her closer. She felt content nestled into his side like this, his presence was a good salve to her encounter with his son. They were watching a boring PBS channel he landed on, but it didn’t seem so boring with him like this.

Okay, that was a lie and she stole the remote to find something more action-packed; the slow drone of the narrator’s voice was slowly putting her to an early eternal sleep. His hand shot out and caught the remote at the same time her hands touched it. His eyes were dark and held a challenge within them. Her delicate brow perked up in response.

“This how you wanna play it, pretty boy?” she asked dangerously.

He pressed his face closer to hers and responded, “You can change the channel if you can get the remote.”

“You do know what I do for a living, don’t you?” she smirked, already planning out ways to snag it without him noticing. But that would take time and the channel commentator’s monotonous drawl was killing her soul. Time was of the essence.

“Unfortunately, yes. Just remember, we’re _friends_ now so no dirty tricks.”

“Oh, well that’s not fair. You know all my tricks are dirty.” She swatted at his hand as she teased him, but he only raised it higher out of her reach.

She tried tickling him in vain, which earned her this odd look from him, she felt stupid for even trying it. Then she went on instinct. Selina bowed her head and sidled closer to him until she was sat directly in his lap. Her hands roamed from his chiseled stomach up his toned pectorals, around the firm bulges of his shoulder and finally traveling up his strong arms raised above his head. She placed her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder, her soft breath teasing the sensitive flesh there. She could feel his grip on their situation wane as his body tensed beneath hers, unconsciously pressing closer into her. Her hands circled his wrist and held them higher above his head as her lips and nose traced his cheek softly.

As her fingers danced closer to their prize, he came to and with a violent twist of his hips, throwing them both on the ground. The remote was discarded and lost in the shadows of the room near the wall. She fell on her back with a heavy thud and an even heavier presence above her, pinning her wrists down above her head.

She laughed and affirmed, “I thought you said ‘we were friends’ and ‘no dirty tricks!’”

When she turned to look up and face him, she watched his face transform into something less than platonic as he had her prone beneath him. He mirrored her actions from before by pressing his face into the soft skin of her neck, his breath warm and tantalizing against her.

“We are friends,” he responded, his voice was dark and full of promises that shouldn’t be kept. Friends was such a dirty word when it escaped his lips like that.

His nose traced the line from her shoulder up her neck until it reached the start of her jaw and then back again, breathing her in. He lowered himself down further on top of her, every cutting line of his body molding with each curve of hers. She was swept away by the current of emotions and sensations his body was making her feel; all the pent up sexual frustration, the lust and desire met with every encounter the two shared.

“Friends don’t do this, Bruce,” she whispered against the shell of his ear, before taking his lobe in her mouth to suck on gently.

He let go of her hands and found them sliding up into his coiffed hair, pulling lightly at the roots and goading him further. His hands traveled south and gripped her hips tightly, angling her up against him. His lips found purchase on her neck and began to suck and bite gently there; she moaned softly against his ear.

“Sure…they….do,” each word was punctuated by a kiss leading up her neck and chin until his lips hovered above her opened and yearning mouth.

It was a very slow and gradual process the two were undergoing, unraveling the bonds and boundaries of their newfound friendship. The two teetered on the edge of the precipice; do they go forward or do they go back, because there was no way for them to stay where they were now as pleasing as it was. One of her hands withdrew from his hair and traced his sharp jaw, cupping his cheek briefly, and made its way to his lips. Her thumb traced the red and surprisingly soft flesh she found there.

“Friends,” she agreed, watching his eyes as his lips wrapped around her finger and sucked gently. Her breath caught in her throat momentarily. “Just…really good friends.”

It was hard to rationalize remaining friends when she felt the steady hot press from inside his trousers against her stomach. She slid her finger out of his mouth and replaced it with hers, her tongue finding his and continuing their battle for dominance with soft determination. He groaned deep in his throat as his arms wrapped around her midback and drew her even closer to him, reveling in every inch he felt of her - she similarly wowed by every inch she felt of him.

Clothes were flung and ripped off their bodies in a flurry of motion. Hands, teeth, lips, tongues, felt like they were everywhere at once in a crazy commotion of need and desire. As her nails dug into his back, and her teeth sank into his neck, through the echoes her cries mirrored by the moans that resonated deep in his chest through to hers Selina could only think of one thing:

She didn’t want to be Bruce Wayne’s friend anymore.


	3. Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having crossed the boundary in the previous chapter, Selina and Bruce enjoy a romantic dinner at the Manor and a pleasant dessert to end their night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very much rated M. (What did you expect with a chapter title like this one?) Enjoy!

**lov-ers; (noun): a person having a sexual or romantic relationship with someone.**

* * *

 

The night had been…eventful, to say the least.

A citywide chase that raced from one end of the city to the other, tunneling through Gotham’s underground and catacombesque sewers, ending in an abandoned warehouse along the harbor, had three women exhausted. Harley Quinn rested her arms and head against the pommel of her cartoonishly large mallet; Catwoman flopped onto the ground unceremoniously, glaring at their captured victim; and lastly, Poison Ivy stood with a foot atop said victim, vines twisted around him, constricting and preventing escape.

The three ladies had previously worked together as an anti-heroic trio to protect Gotham when Batman could not be found, known locally as the Gotham City Sirens. It had a clever, if appropriate, ring to it. The team had disbanded for a variety of reasons, one of which being the vigilante’s return, the other more pressing reason being group-wide betrayal. They managed to reconcile and still (occasionally) found themselves reunited on missions such as this, missions that threatened attachments close to home.

Struggling to little avail, Dr. Jonathan Crane (who had taken on the handle of the fearsome and fear-inducing Scarecrow), writhed and cursed. His rage seethed as potent as his fear toxins he was currently unable to reach.

“Continue your struggles,” Poison Ivy’s voice was as coarse as her plants, their rough barky texture winding tighter around the deluded doctor. Tiny droplets of crimson blood dripped onto the plants where the thorns pierced flesh, the flora soaked it up greedily. “My plants love when their prey fights back. The pump of adrenaline calls to them, making it all the easier to find your weak spots - and kill.”

“You know,” Harley’s head popped up long enough to speak. “It was a really dumb move trying to dose that community center, Dr. C! Really, really dumb!”

“A community center which housed a lost dog and _cat_ shelter,” Catwoman added with a hateful hiss, her outstretched claws slashed near his exposed face as an obvious threat.

“And,” Ivy’s hand became claw like, each tightening hand gesture mimicked in the vines punctuating every word menacingly. “A - beautiful - observatory - for - exotic - flora.”

“And, and! Don’t forget the hyenas he almost poisoned with his stupid gas!”  
 “Harls, those were your hyenas you brought with us,” Catwoman chided. If her mild annoyance had bled through she could blame it on the aching burn she still felt deep in her calves. The two hyenas had been sent home for fear of what the toxins would do to them, but were most likely currently terrorizing civilians and small pets on the street.

Selina had plans tonight and she was going to be too sore to make it if this kept up, worsening her already foul mood.

“Yeah, but my babies coulda been hurt bad!” Harley stuck her tongue out at her friend childishly. She then reared her leg back up almost to her head and unleashed her fury upon the incapacitated Scarecrow. “And this one’s for those YMCBrats you coulda killed too!” As she went to charge a second kick, a voice like tires on gravel sounded from above them.

“That’s enough!”

Three sets of eyes darted quickly to the huge hole in the ceiling of the ramshackle warehouse, what might have once been a decent skylight ruined by the erosion of time. Painted against the full moon was a black silhouette that fluttered down almost gracefully to the ground level. A quick smile graced Catwoman’s face who then hid it beneath a gloved hand. Despite the clunky kevlar armor and the additional 200 pounds of muscle beneath it, there was nary a sound made as the man descended. His outfit was equipped with excellently stealthy sound dampeners - a higher-grade caliber than the stuff Catwoman used for her own outfit.

“That’s enough,” the voice repeated, shrouded in shadow still. Ever the man of mystery and bravado. “The GCPD can handle it from here.”

Poison Ivy sighed deeply, her look of apathy underwhelming the situation. She crossed her arms. “We were through here anyway.”

Harley’s eyes lit up as she ran over to the shadowy figure that slowly stepped into the light. She jovially greeted him with a, “Hey, B-Man!” and high-fived him.

Normally, her high-fives went unanswered and she was forced to settle with a slap of his shoulder, to which his scowl would always deepen. Tonight, he seemed to be in a bit of a mood and robotically raised his hand to meet hers with a smirk. She squealed in delight and bounced away, singing a made-up song outside of any lyrical human key.

Poison Ivy’s gait was always a seductive stroll, an enticing sashay to arouse any man especially surrounded by the cloud of her enhanced pheromones. It no longer affected him and hadn’t for some time; he had not only built up an immunity, but had also installed nasal filters to his mask. She passed by and greeted the vigilante with a stare so cold, Mr. Freeze could have learned a thing or two. Ivy made a brief noise of discontent in his general direction and followed Harley out.

Then there was one.

She waited to see that the two others were gone and quickly picked her way over to him, her knight in dulled kevlar. She ran her claws along the armor protecting his chest, fingering the design embossed square in the center; rising on her toes next, she placed a chaste kiss on his rugged cheek, her other hand coming up to cup the other side’s.

“See you tonight. Your place, right?” Her body rolled against his as she played with one of the ears on his cowl. His hand found its home resting easily against the outward curve of her hip.

The visor protecting his eyes slid up into the mask with a soft hiss, leaving his piercing blue eyes exposed. He exchanged a meaningful look worth a thousand words, and a few naughty promises laced between each unspoken phrase. A pleasurable chill ran through her and she hummed happily, a brilliant smile stretched across her face excitedly. She kissed just below his jaw, leaving a vibrant pair of red lips etched onto his face and sprinted off.

“Don’t forget to shave!” she reminded as she ran, shooting him an equally promising glance back.

He smirked proudly, rubbing the spot under his chin she had territorially marked and decided to patrol for a bit longer, before he needed to get ready. He glanced down at the unconscious pile that was Scarecrow still wrapped in a thorny hogtie and sent the exact coordinates to the police. Shooting his grappling hook, he ascended with thoughts just as surpassingly light as he felt zipping skyward.

 

* * *

 

Suit retired for the night, Bruce Wayne made his way up the secret staircase past the clock and continued his trek until he was in his quarters. When he got there, he flicked the light switch on and began to undress. As he did, his thoughts revolved around one thing. All he could think about were the two interchangeable names around that one face.

 _Catwoman…Selina…Catwoman_.

His life had been so bleak, an endless dark abyss he couldn’t find a way or will to get out of, he just let it crush him like the time falling into the cave as a child. Continuously mired down by the dregs of crime and inevitable loss of family, he found it hard to be happy in his city of darkness. The few lights in his life were consistently snuffed out by the criminal rogue gallery of Gotham’s worst like candles in church. The last time he felt true happiness was before his life was ripped out from under him on that horrible night. His comfort, his solace, were found in the sternly loving hands of his father and delicate kisses of his mother. He was happiest, unburdened with them and the full innocence of childhood. Until he was forced to grow up under the pallid moonlight and grim streets of Crime Alley.

But what he had with Selina, it was close. As close as he was ever going to get - or allow himself to get. Until justice was served for his parents crimes, until the last shred of injustice was eradicated, he couldn’t be truly happy. But he was close, she made it that way. She was the light in his cave, and just as he had once startled millions of bats, her shining beacon let loose a flood of emotions he thought he no longer had. She was the only one that broke his icy guard, she picked the lock around the chains on his heart - and it was a terrifying notion. But terror never stopped him before, he was willing to venture into this unknown territory if she was.

Bruce was down to his briefs at this point, walking towards the bathroom to do as he was earlier commanded when he sensed a difference in the room. It was subtle, but there. Had he not been trained as well as he was, he may have missed it. They were good; the creaks in the floorboards barely out of sync with his footfalls, but it was just enough for his heightened hearing to catch. As he paused, a deeper creak sounded as the intruder bunched their muscles and pounced.

Faster than the blink of an eye, he jerked around, catching the outstretched arms seeking out his face with amazing precision. He threw the arms behind his head to force momentum against the attacker for a headbutt and found instead legs voluntarily wrap around his waist, discarded hands wrapping around his neck non-threateningly. He knew by smell alone who it was. Bruce’s eyes focused on what was directly in front of him and he became face to face with his invited guest, hers lighted up in mischievous glee. Selina’s eyes glittered like the diamonds she coveted and procured.

Calmed, Bruce glanced down at their bodies and chuckled. “I know why I’m down to my shorts, but why are you dressed similarly?”

She was clad only in a sexy matching bra and panty set; a purple lace trim decorative bra sheathed her chest in very little cloth and the same bottom color and material styled to draw the eye, a revealing piece that left enough to the imagination to be tasteful but exposed enough to be entirely too sexy. The set accentuated the tapered curve of her waist and hips and the perky mounds pressed against his chest nicely. His fingers moved purposefully across her skin to elicit the delicious responses out of her he liked to hear. A smile tugged at her lips playfully.

She purred in his ear and answered his question, “So I was at liberty to feel every inch of this.”

Selina ground her hips into his, his stomach clenched in an involuntary spasm that boosted her ego. She could feel her affect on him instantaneously and her mental cheer turned into an audible moan as she felt the press of thick heat against her.

Eyes dark and hazed over with lust, his lips latched onto her succulent neck quick as a snake and threw them both onto his bed. He sucked at the soft flesh he found there, working his way down to the pillowy mounds of her breasts, coaxing more enticing sounds from her lips. He brought his knee up between her legs, causing a wonderful friction as she bucked against him. Her fingers clutched his thick, coarse hair and pulled roughly at the roots; his teeth nipped at her skin each time she tugged. She retracted her claws and had them run up and down his chest and abdomen, feeling the muscles shift and work beneath her fingertips.

His lips adored every inch of her as her nails ravaged every part of him. His body moved lower, farther down hers until he reached the lace trim of her panties. Her legs writhed excitedly, hands back to digging deep into his hair. As he bent to place smaller, teasing kisses, he suddenly found himself suffocating on his plush bedsheets.

Rearing his head back up, he noticed Selina was off the bed and halfway into a pair of her jeans. She had escaped the burly prison of her lover’s arms and finished putting on a plain cotton gray shirt. The cleavage was nice, but he would rather have the view below him than beside him in that moment.

“Do you not smell that?” She sniffed the air and rolled a moan around in her mouth. “Oh my god, what is Alfred making?”

Bruce laughed dryly and ran a hand through his hair to smooth it out. “No, I didn’t smell anything because by now I had hoped to have my nose buried elsewhere than in a plate.”

Selina prowled over to him, mussing his hair up again and kissing him deeply. “Keep playing your cards right, and Alfred’s won’t be the only meal you’ll get tonight. As delicious as his desserts always are, I have something much better waiting for you.”

He kissed her back and felt cold at the sudden lack of lips as she bounded away. He shook his head in bemusement. He got up and redressed, simple black slacks and a simpler navy shirt that was so dark it may have been a faded black. Running his fingers through his hair one last time until it was at his normal coif, he followed after her into the kitchen where Alfred had prepared a wonderful meal.

She was standing up at the counter, watching Alfred scoot about the kitchen to finish the final touches on their meal. She complimented the smells and how eagerly she wished to devour them. Alfred chuckled humbly and hummed a happy operatic tune as he puttered around. Bruce came like a shadow behind her, forming close to her body.

His taller frame nearly dwarfed her, his arms twisted around her body and rested comfortably on her stomach. His chin was snug against the top of her head. She looked up and kissed it. The sight brought a shining happiness to the butler who wanted nothing but the best for his surrogate son. It was a tough and trying road to get to this point, he knew, but he also understood how worth it and needed it was.

“Oh, boy. That is still… _so_ hard to get used to.”

Bruce and Selina looked to the voice in tandem, a pleasantly surprising guest had joined them.

“Dick,” Bruce said by way of greeting, his head giving a slight bob in recognition.

“Bruce,” his ward responded, voice deep in imitation but lilting with humor. He was leaning against the doorframe, hands crossed over his chest. He was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a button-up white shirt, eyeing the couple. He nodded at his once enemy turned ally, “Selina, hey.”

She smiled and trotted over to him, wrapping her arms around his middle snugly. His brows shot up as he gave a sidelong glance to his mentor. He shrugged in answer. Dick patted Selina’s back and said, “This is even harder to get used to. By now if this were a couple years ago, I’d have been shielding my eyes from your claws. Now they’re just digging - into my backside! Easy there!”

Selina had pinched his rear as he entered memory lane, snapping him out of it quickly as he escaped her reach and laughing awkwardly.

“Don’t worry, little bird, these claws aren’t meant to harm you anymore,” she glanced back at Bruce slyly. “Him, on the other hand…”

Dick waved his arms in surrender. “Oh man, file that under things I didn’t ever want to picture - ever. And it’s big bird to you now! But you know you can just call me Dick.”

“I can, but I won’t,” she slapped his right cheek gently twice and made her way back under Bruce’s wing. He folded his arms around her with pleasant ease.

“Dinner will be ready in a few moments. Will Master Richard be joining us this evening?”

Dick sucked air in through his teeth, rocking back on his heels. “Love to, Alfie, but can’t. Here to pick up Damian. Tim and I were going to practice sparring and Damian decided to join. Well, forced himself upon us would be more accurate. He knew Cat…Selina was coming and wanted to, ah, give you guys privacy.”

Bruce smirked as Catwoman pressed closer to him. “I’m sure those were his _exact_ words.”

Dick shrugged, admitted “Kids would be kids,” and jogged up the staircase, calling out to his adoptive brother who petulantly shouted some insult or slur back.

Alfred’s hands were filled with silver plates, his chef’s hat positioned primly on his balding head. “Dinner is served,” he stated in his usual dull drawl.

Selina licked her lips, a sight Bruce’s eyes caught temptingly. “Yummy.”

_Indeed._

As dinner came to an end, Selina patted her mouth with the napkin delicately. She rose and walked around the grand dining table. Bruce had watched her journey and scooted his chair out, an open invitation to his lap she accepted. She sat across his legs and kissed his cheek, smiling mirrored in his face as well. She leaned in, pressing her chest against his, and found strong arms coiling around her, thick cords of muscle tight and wonderful against her back. She kissed him deeply, eyes fluttering closed. He drank in her lips as if he were a dehydrated man, her natural taste sweet and enhanced with Alfred’s spices and herbs from their chicken.

Alfred walked in on the two with surprising stealth and asked, unhindered, “Shall you two be needing dessert or will you retire for the evening?”

Selina grinned against Bruce’s mouth, eyes searching his. She jumped up, her hand in his and raced out of the room. Bruce knocked over the chair as he fumbled around it, catching it before it fell and tossing it back up, tugged with great purpose by his guest.

“I think we’re taking desert to go, Alfred,” he called out to his caretaker, stumbling on the stairs as Selina laughed heartily.

“Very good, sir,” Alfred replied, then speaking to himself added, “Ah, to be young and in love.”

The kindly old man smiled softly, heart warm and aglow at the change the young Ms. Kyle instilled in what he always viewed as a son. There was a loud crash and the undeniable sound of hundreds of glass shards shattering. The butler sighed, retrieving his broom and pan. _Ah, to be young and in love,_ he repeated.

Upstairs, Selina had beat Bruce to his bedroom. The first few times they had raced, she had gotten lost or entered the wrong door (on a bad day, she bruised her shoulder trying to burst into a room she swore was his in the long winding hallway). By the time he made it to the door, fingers gripping the frame, she had cast aside her soft cotton shirt and stood with her back to him in nothing but her pants and bra. Her fingers traced the backside of the garment, playfully and with slow deliberation unclasping each hook.

“Need to freshen up,” she explained. “As delicious as that meal smelt and was, I would rather not continue smelling like it.”

“Shower’s,” his eyes watched her slip out of her tight pants distractedly, roaming her body greedily. “To the left.”

She walked over to him, ran fingers up his chest teasingly, then disappeared into the bathroom. It wasn’t long until the rush of water sounded, her voice just barely coming over it.

“I’m pretty sure my whole apartment can fit in your bathroom.”

He chuckled, wringing his wrists out and rolling them in a hand; his joints stiff. He would give her a few minutes to herself and then come in to tease her as she had him all night. It turned out a few minutes meant only two before he could wait no longer. If this were a night patrol, he could sit in the same spot for hours watching, waiting. His impatience got the better of him when Selina was involved in any capacity.

The door opened without a sound, especially over the roar of the shower head. It wasn’t until she heard the wet plop of feet behind her that she smiled. Her smile weakened as she felt fingers comb through her short hair. Bruce’s hands worked through the strands of her hair, massaging her scalp. He squirted shampoo into his palm that smelled like eucalyptus; calming. He began to lather her hair in silence. It was such an intimate gesture, she didn’t know how to verbally respond to it so she remained silent, allowing her body to physically show her approval.

Her head fell back on his chest, soaking it in the suds of the conditioner. He smiled, continuing his ministrations. When it was all washed off, she turned in his arms, rose on the balls of her feet and kissed him. Her hands played with the damp strands of his hair that hung around his face, framing his chiseled features. She loved being this close to him, loved the way he touched her, and their shared intimacies. Their kiss soon went from the gentle brush of lips, casually exploring each other, to a ferocious animosity; clashing of tongues and urgent hands roving everywhere.

Bruce’s hands dipped lower down her abdomen and she gasped, eyes wide then shutting as her head rolled back with a loud moan. His breathing was as hot as the water pouring over them and coming fast against her neck. He teased her, rubbing determined circles on her clit until her legs began to shake. He flipped her around before she buckled so that her back was against his front, hand still in place working at her with expert precision. He pushed her against the wall. The cool of the tile against her breasts and the heat from the man behind her was a dizzyingly satisfying experience. Selina’s body jerked pleasantly against him, a sensation that made parts of his anatomy jerk in response.

He kissed the back of her neck down to between her shoulder blades, one hand rubbing and massaging her hips while the other continued his fondling, stroking her up and down. Her chest was heaving, hardened nipples rubbing against the cold tile. She bucked against him, desperately trying to feel as much of him as she could. She connected with his throbbing cock, grinding her ass and moving against him appreciatively. He groaned against her neck, his erection strained between her legs, rubbing up and down and getting slicker by the second.

“Please,” she quietly begged, a sound nearly lost to the waterfall.

She wanted a quick end, always in it for the instant gratification, but he wasn’t finished with her yet; her sounds were too delicious to his ears and he didn’t want them to stop. He dropped to his knees behind her, like a reverent man praying before his idol. She missed the sensation of his body behind her, the strong thrum of energy she felt surrounded by his presence, and the way his cock felt against her.

All thought left her mind as she felt herself being caressed from below by his strong tongue. His hands gripped her hips almost painfully as his tongue moved in long, languorous stokes and fluid zig-zag patterns as he lapped up her juices. He was starved for the taste of her, burrowing himself deeper and working his tongue in fast movements against her clit, eliciting mouth watering responses. He introduced his finger into the mix and beckoned her to cum for him with it.

“Cum for me,” he whispered against her lips, over and over again. “Be a good girl and cum for me,” she moaned and shivered above him, her nails raked the wall to anchor herself to reality as his fingers and lips distorted the world around her. She felt him nip at her labia and soothe the bite with a kiss and a few strokes of his tongue. “I want to taste you, Selina, cum for me now.”

“Please, Bruce, _please._ I need to - I need to feel you inside me,” she begged breathlessly, and it became too hard for him to disincline.

He rose up and nodded with his forehead pressed against the nape of her neck, positioning himself behind her and guiding himself in with the hand he removed from her clit. His hands flexed against her sides as he entered her, slowly moving each inch into her; a hiss of pleasure escaped her lips as her head was thrown back. Her muscles clenched around him and drew him in deeper. He groaned again, low in his throat. With one hand on her hip, the other flat on the wall to anchor himself, he began to move with vigor.

He was as powerful and intimidating in battle as he was in sex; all grunts and deep, powerful strokes filled with such intensity it was almost overwhelming. He pounded into her from behind, fingers digging deeply into her soft flesh. It was animalistic and raw, just what she needed. She needed his fervor desperately, feeling his strength through each world shattering stroke. His breath was even hotter against her back as he repeated her name over and over, like a prayer upon his lips.

“Selina, Selina, ugh, Selina…” Each thrust punctuated with the callout of her name.

She arched her back with fluid grace and the new angle it provided caused a shudder to run through her. He was hitting her even deeper, sheathing himself inside her tight wetness fully. Her screams tore from her throat and bounced off the walls. Bruce roared primally at the sound, flipping her around with sharp twist of his upper body. She knew what he wanted without him needing to verbalize it; the two were perfect partners in and out of the bedroom. She wrapped her legs around his midriff and felt his large hands slap and clamp onto her muscular ass, forcing himself as far as he could go. Her claws raked down his back and drew blood which washed away pink down the drain.

Bruce’s teeth came down sharply on her neck and she moaned in ecstasy. His muscles supported the two as she began to ride him, her powerful thighs working to lift herself up and down vertically. Her inner muscles clenched voluntarily and made him growl, face pulled in a pleasured grimace, water raining down on his face. Her tongue laved at the droplets and traced around his jaw until her lips and teeth pulled at the soft flesh of his ear lobe; sucking and nibbling at it. His own lips and teeth latched onto her breast and bit at the tender, sensitive flesh. He drew an erect nipple into his mouth and worked at it with his teeth. She rose up higher and higher on him, the pleasure mounting and hard to contain; a high, keening noise was coming from somewhere and it took her some time to realize it was her.

The pleasure seemed too much to handle for himself as well, Bruce’s knees buckled and his back hit the ground in a violent thud. He continued thrusting into her, watching her face as she bounced on top of him in wild abandon. His hands moved up her body and cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples again and kissing the divot between her collarbone. The droplets of water shimmered around her like a halo.

Her movements began to falter and he noted the slight transformations in her face - she was close. His hands scrabbled along her back and locked her in place, sitting halfway upright. He ground his hips into hers with three short, but powerful strokes. The first shocked her system in a bout of ecstasy, by the second one he had her, and the third let loose a scream his lips caught as he kissed her so deeply it was difficult to recognize whose tongue belonged in which mouth. As she rode out the orgasm, her body shuddering atop his, she rolled her hips into his. In a few more calculated movements and well placed moans, his eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging into her as his body jolted and trembled with his climax.

The two sat limply against each other in the haze of euphoria and the wonders the steaming waters were doing to their worn out muscles.

“Bruce,” she panted softly. “That was…amazing. Thank you,” she pressed her lips against his chest.

“No,” he said, holding her tighter against him. “Thank you. Selina, I…”

She saw it, the words that were so hard for him to say usually until it was too late. She saw it through the hesitation, and that’s all that mattered to her. She could wait to hear it when he was truly ready; she wasn’t even sure if she was herself. She quieted him with her lips and felt the words form with each lazy, blissful post-coital kiss. He put the _love_ in l _overs_ and she was content to let his actions speak for themselves for now. Things had finally become just as they were meant to.


End file.
